Demonspawn
by Wolf Master Loki
Summary: There is something locked away down there. Forgotten by his friends and thought to be dead by everyone else. He's a monster now. Oneshot. Based on the episode 'Marjorine.'


**Title:** Demonspwan  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Captivity, Abuse, Cannibalism  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There is something locked away down there. Forgotten by his friends and thought to be dead by everyone else. He's a monster now. Oneshot. Based on the episode 'Marjorine.'  
><strong>Notes:<strong> I've found that Butters doesn't get nearly the continuity that other South Park characters seem to get. So for better or worse I'm giving him the continuity he deserves. This fic was inspired by the episode Marjorine. If you haven't seen the episode, Butters is convinced to fake his death to pretend to be a girl to get into a slumber party. After it's done he returns home but his parents think that he was resurrected in an Indian burial ground. They end the episode with him locked in the basement and being fed a person. I've written this story as if he'd never left that basement.

Currently a oneshot but I may continue depending on response if it's requested.

Demonspawn

He had been here a long time. So long that it was hard to remember a time before he'd been locked away. Before he became a demon. He was sure he'd been human once. Long ago. But the memories were vague. Everything was bigger with more color and people like him. People that were like he used to be.

A door above him creaked with extended use as it opened, and a long shaft of light fell across the floor towards him. He shrunk away from it. The light always burned if he tried to look at it for too long. Light was not for demons like him. Not anymore.

"Morning, Butters. How are you today sweetie?," A woman spoke to him from the doorway before descending the stairs.

Butters lifted his head upon hearing his name but didn't acknowledge what else was spoken to him. The words were meaningless to him now. Just like his words were meaningless to them. They didn't speak the same language anymore. The demon couldn't communicate with the human.

Butters' mother, Linda, stopped at the bottom of steps slightly out of reach of her son. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the task she undertook each morning, Her fear of her son had faded with time as he was never violent with her but there was still a lingering fear of the unknown.

She set the bundle of items down that she had been holding, a bucket of water and assorted toiletries, at her feet. "Come on Butters," she said softly. She gestured him to come closer. He did so with no hesitation, used to the daily routine of his life.

Butters' mother removed his only clothing, a pair of long basketball shorts, and washed him down with a sponge. She took care to get around his collared throat and wetted his unkempt hair. He didn't need a hair cut just yet. She was glad for that since coming near her demented son with a sharp object wasn't appealing.

Linda hesitated briefly at the ragged hole of his left eye. Butters didn't like when it was touched but it needed to be cleaned with the rest of him. It once contained a glass eye that had been specially made but now the item was lying cracked and dirty among the boy's meager possessions. The only things he was allowed to have.

After cleaning him she continued her cleaning task by brushing his hair and teeth. Butters growled low in his throat as she pried his mouth open to clean his teeth. Linda gulped audibly but pressed on. She was well-practiced and the whole affair only took ten minutes. Despite the daily cleaning Butters was still incredibly sickly looking. With very pale skin and yellowed teeth that were chipped or blackened from his harsh living conditions.

After finishing her task, Linda dried the boy off and tried to quickly put his new shorts on. It was the most difficult part of the routine since Butters didn't stand straight up. He stayed constantly crouched on his hands and feet like an ape. This posture ruining his spine and causing the vertebrae to jut out noticeably.

"There all clean," Linda said and stood up, "Your father will be down with your food soon. Be good." She continued with an air of someone who was discussing the weather.

Butters cocked his head and grunted, "Feed." His words came out gravelly and choked with disuse. His vocabulary suffering horribly from lack of human interaction.

Linda gathered up her supplies as if she hadn't heard the word and quickly left the basement. The door closed with a heavy slam and the sounds of clinking metal was heard. The locks being turned to secure the the basement.

Butters growled but didn't try to speak again. Neither of them understood him. They never acknowledged his words. In his mind he was speaking in a foreign demon tongue that no one else could decipher. He had given up a long time ago when it came to talking. His parents couldn't hear his demon tongue.

The boy slunk across the floor balanced on the balls of his feet and knuckles. It was an effective way to move in his opinion. Why use two limbs when all four were easily at his disposal?

He continued pacing back and forth across the floor. As far as his chain would allow. Soon after his mother would leave, his father would appear with food. He was hungry and agitated. After a few more minutes of furious pacing the door creaked open again. This time a man was at the doorway. Butters didn't shy from the light this time but lurched forward.

Butters' father descended the steps in the same quick manner his wife would. He didn't spend nearly as much time in his son's presence however.

"Here ya go, son.," Chris said as he dropped the food on the floor. Without hesitation he turned around and retreated up the steps, locking the door behind him.

Butters had to reach out with one long, pale hand to reach the food. He quickly snatched it and dragged the parcel back to the wall behind him. His meal was a slab of raw meat with blood still clinging to the surface. It was his usual food, humans like his parents were fed to him. He was slightly disappointed that it didn't come to him whole. It was more enjoyable to get his meal from the source.

He didn't take much time worrying about it before tearing the meat with his teeth. He was aided by his fingernails which were long and jagged from not being cared for properly. They served his purpose well and that's all that mattered to Butters.

He savored the flavor of the meat he was given. It was always good no matter what condition it came in. Butters was only fed twice a day so he knew to enjoy the meal while it lasted. When only a small portion remained her loped across the floor to his makeshift bed. Just a few old blankets laid out on the floor. He stashed the meat in the folds for later just in case.

After stashing the food Butters looked around suspiciously as if someone were watching from the shadows. Though they never were. He was still paranoid that something could be down here ready to attack him. When the area was sufficiently deemed clear he relaxed a little.

He moved to the far wall where a faucet was attached. If he turned the lever water would come out into the wide bowl placed under it. Butters was only just dextrous enough to accomplish the task. Most other things alluded him due to the state of his hands. The skin was calloused and the bones gnarled from the way he walked after so many years on the hard cement floor.

After turned the lever, he placed his hands and face under the spray enough to wash the blood into the bowl. He turned the water off and allowed the morbid mixture to settle. He dunked his face in the bowl and slurped up the liquid. He continued to savor the taste of blood while it lasted. Butters had to lap up the rest like a dog when it got too low and cleaned the bowl's surface with his tongue.

Finally sated from his hunger and thirst Butters sat back. His father would only come back one more time to feed him. The rest of the time his only company was the darkness. Butters didn't allow himself to stay still for too long. If he did the dark would taunt him. His mind would scream things at him.

He paced ceaselessly back and forth. His remaining eye roved the room restlessly. Never stopping for more than a second. After being in the dark so long he had excellent night vision. He had little trouble making out the room and the few things contained within it.

After lapping the room dozens of times he finally tired himself out and moved to his only possessions. They were laid out next to his bed. He had only his glass eye, which he'd forgotten the use of, old Legos, and a couple bones. The bones were the remains of his last whole meal. When a new one came he would replace them. Until then he cherished the remains of his victim. They were special to him in a way he couldn't fathom.

Butters shoved the end of one of the bones in his mouth and absentmindedly chewed on it. He picked up the old Legos and started snapping the pieces together. With the toy, he built things that only existed in his mind.

Long forgotten memories when he was still human and allowed out of his current home. He wasn't sure if the things in his head were even real. He thought of all the bright and beautiful images he was conjuring. They danced on the edge of his mind so he couldn't name them or sharpen the image to see it clearly.

As much as he'd love to see these things clearly he was afraid. They were too bright. Too big. He'd surely die in a blaze if he dared to look upon these things. They weren't for him anymore. The only thing left of his past was the clicking of the blocks meant to represent the images.

He was a demon now. Humans were nothing but food to him. He stared down at the thing he'd made. A crash sounded as he slapped his creation into the wall. It fell to pieces and scattered around him.

Butters curled his lip and snarled into the darkness.


End file.
